


A Favor

by plaguewind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaguewind/pseuds/plaguewind
Summary: After the death of King Joffrey, Petyr Baelish and Sansa stark remain in King's Landing. Still desiring the little dove, Petyr makes an interesting arrangement with Queen Margaery who requires a favor of her own.(I'm shit at summaries)





	

_What am I doing?_ Margaery probably asked herself the same question a million times in a matter of seconds. She asked herself again, as she opened the door to the establishment, a wave of heat engulfed her and the smell of sweat and sex filled her nostrils. This was not the sort of place she frequented, of course not. In fact this was her first time and as much as she knew it was a horrible idea she could not shake the feeling that she needed this. 

A blonde haired young man presented himself and recognition hit her. She knew his face. He hesitated briefly, he obviously remembered her as well, before introducing himself. 

"Your Grace," he bowed. "Welcome to Lord Baelish's establishment. I am Olyvar. To what do we owe the pleasure this evening?"

For a moment she forgot herself. She had not expected to see someone she knew, other than Lord Baelish of course. Gathering her wits she decided to be brief but firm. 

"I request the presence of your Lord immediately."

He must not have noticed any misgivings in her tone for he bowed again, eyes downcast. "Yes, your Grace. If you'll but step inside and allow me to inform him of you arrival."

"Of course."

With confidence, she stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind her, and Olyvar disappeared. All the while the sounds of her surroundings drifted to her through a doorway veiled in beads. Giggles...panting...moans. Belonging to both male and female. A musty tang hung in the air and she felt her heart quicken it's pace. A dull, aching throb began between her legs and she cursed internally for being so weak.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Olyvar returned.

"My Lord will see you right away. If you'll follow me, your Grace."

He lead her through the beads, but instead of going through the heart of the institution, as she had almost hoped, he veered left and took her down a side hallway that lead to a single door. Olyvar knocked once and opened it, stepping aside to allow her entry first. 

Lord Baelish was seated at a wooden desk to the right of the room. To the left was an expanse of seating, cushioned in the finest silken fabrics. He stood as she entered. 

"Queen Margaery," Olyvar said. 

Lord Baelish nodded to Olyvar and gave a slight bow toward Margaery. "Your Grace, it's a pleasure to have you here. Olyvar, you may leave us now." Olyvar gave a final bow in her direction and left them alone. 

"Please, have a seat. Rest."

Margaery felt her heart pounding like a drum against her chest, wondering if what she was about to do was altogether wise, but it felt too late to turn back now. She walked towards the chair that sat opposite his desk and took a seat. He waited expectantly until she was comfortable and retook his own chair.

"Your Grace, would you like a drink? Some wine perhaps?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

"Arbor Gold, yes?"

She nodded and smiled. He had cups and a bottle upon his desk already. He poured them each a glass and handed hers across desk. 

"So...What brings you here? I'm quite on the edge of my seat as I have never had a queen in here before."

For a moment she had second thoughts but reminded herself that she was _the_ queen, she could ask for anything she wanted and no one should question her. She took a long drink of the wine.

"I am in need of services, Lord Baelish."

"Indeed?"

"Your services." She rethought that. "What I mean to say, is I am in need of the services your establishment provides."

At first the man did not move at all. Not a blink...a twitch. Then finally his lips pursed as if he meant to smile but then he did not. "You require a whore?"

"Yes. No. Yes." She took a deep breath and another drink of wine. "A male. I want a male. A man."

He was difficult to read as always but his grey-green eyes showed the slightest flicker of amusement. Not too different from the night at the encampment when she had unknowingly admitted that she and Renly did not share a bed. "Forgive me if I am being too...intrusive...but...is our good King not doing his duty in the bedroom?"

"Lord Baelish...our young king is always enthusiastic to do his duty in the bedroom. Maybe a little _too_ enthusiastic. He is young."

"I am afraid I do not understand your meaning."

He was lying, she could see it behind his knowing smirk. He wanted her to say it out loud. Very well. So be it. "I mean he finishes before I have began to start. And I do believe you know what I mean."

Lord Baelish's expression was blank. He was a difficult man to know, one mask changing to another in a matter of seconds. "I understand," he said. "However, I must tell you, because I do not wish any harm to befall you for what happens from this moment on, that you take a huge risk."

"How so?"

"I have men...men who may suit your needs. But men are ambitious creatures, your Grace. I fear with the right amount of coin any one of them could become loose in the tongue. Whores are whores, male or female."

Her heart sank. It was a valid point. 

"And if word got out," he continued. "You could lose everything. Cersei wouldn't hesitate to convince Tommen that you are guilty of treason. It could mean your head."

She knew he was right. She knew that before she had come. 

"However, maybe we can find a way to make sure no one ever finds out."

"How so?" She asked, a spark of hope beginning to form. 

"Well..." Slowly he stood from his chair and came around to her side of his desk, taking a seat on the edge before her. "I am a man. An older, more experienced man. Perhaps I could remedy this situation."

"You mean... _you_?" For a moment she thought him joking, playing at her. His expression gave no hint at humor. Unabashedly she looked him up and down, taking in his entire form. He _was_ an older man, probably in his forties, around the same age as her father, with dark hair greying at the temples. His facial hair also greying. Though he was not unattractive. His body appeared to be thin and lean through his layers of clothing. But something about him had always made her feel slightly uncomfortable, with his watchful eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. 

"I think I could give you what you need, your Grace." He lifted his hand to her face and ran a finger under her chin. Tingles ran down her spine. 

"What is your price, Lord Baelish? How much?" If there was anything she knew it was that there was always a price. 

"My price can not be paid in gold, I fear. It is a favor I require."

She wasn't surprised, not really. Lord Baelish seemed to like money yes but he could attain that from his clientele. He would want something from her that he could not get from them. 

"What is it that you require, Lord Baelish?"

He took a long draught of his wine before sitting the empty cup down. "I require the Lady Sansa Stark."

"Require what of her?"

"I wish to marry her, make little heirs with her. Certainly you know what I mean."

Margaery considered Sansa a friend. She was a sweet girl and had been put through so much already. "Lady Sansa is already married to Tyrion Lannister."

The man in front of her seemed almost annoyed but she couldn't quite say. "That is irrelevant. Tyrion Lannister has fled the city and if he returns they are going to behead him. There is also the issue that the marriage was never consummated, therefore it is null is the eyes of the gods and the law."

"Sounds like you have talked to her already. Why don't you ask her yourself."

"I plan to, your Grace, but what I require is that you simply speak with her, put the idea in her head and convince her it's the best thing for her. My Lady is young and despite all she's gone through since the late King Joffrey, I believe she still harbors grande ideals of handsome, young knights."

"I see" and she did. Sansa was inclined to swoon after the young, pretty things. In all honesty it wasn't working for her so far. Joffrey had beaten her, Loras was a pillow biter. 

"Convince King Tommen it's a good match as well, since the Lady Stark is still property of the crown. Do this and we have a deal. If you wish."

She nodded. "Very well. It's a deal."

"Good," he stood from where he was perched on the edge of the desk and walked around, returning to his chair. "Come back here tonight. There's another door in the back that leads directly to this room. Knock three times and I'll know it's you. Please wear something easy to get off. I'd rather spend our time chasing pleasure instead of fumbling with ties and straps."

His words made her cheeks burn as she stood to leave.

"One more thing your Grace..."

"Yes?"

"Why come here? Why not fuck one of the men of the court or the king's guard? Surely you'd find many willing participants."

"Because men of the court have looser tongues than whores. I'll see you tonight, Lord Baelish."

 

***********

 

After Tommen had drifted off into a deep slumber, Margaery found it surprisingly easy to sneak away. As Baelish had requested she wore little clothing, a simple white gown with ties at the chest and a plain, black cloak to cover herself as she made her way to the brothel. Her brother,Loras, had followed her, keeping enough distance behind that the pair would not draw attention if seen but close enough that he could step in if there were to be any trouble. He was the only one she could trust with this secret. 

She arrived in front of the back door without incident, Loras hid in the shadows. Three knocks. The door opened and Lord Baelish stood before her, waving her inside. Loras would wait until she came out. 

Baelish closed the door behind her. "Please, your Grace, have a seat. Get comfortable." He helped her out of her cloak and gestured to the expanse of seating and as she made her way to sit she realized that it was one long, wide bench, heavily cushioned and pillowed. It could have been a bed. Did he sleep here? She very much doubted it.

She had just sat down on the edge when he moved to sit beside her, two cups of wine in hand, and handed her one. 

"Thank you."

As she sipped from the cup she looked at him for the first time and realized he too was dressed much differently than normal. He wore no doublet, only breeches and a shirt, the top strings hanging loose revealing his collar bone and a little of his chest which was lightly covered in grey and black hair, a raised scar ran down separating the hairs. She knew the story behind that scar, everyone knew. 

"I trust you had no troubles along your way?" 

"No Lord Baelish. No trouble at all."

"Good." He took a drink of his wine and sat the cup down on the low table that sat across from them. Upon returning his attention to her he placed one hand delicately on her knee and she felt it burn through her gown. "How would your Grace like to begin?"

Her heart quickened. When she had decided to do this she had not expected it to be with Littlefinger. Thinking of him in such a way had never crossed her mind. "I...I'm not sure, my Lord."

His lips spread into a smug smile. "Do not tell me you are feeling shy. You are not some silly virgin...you are a woman grown...with needs, yes?"

For a second she thought to reprimand him for speaking to his Queen in such a way but withdrew the thought altogether. He was right. She was not some timid prude and they both knew why she had come him, there was no reason to dance around the subject. 

"I have a confession, Lord Baelish." She finished her wine and sat her cup down beside his.

"Yes? And please, considering the intimacy of our current circumstances, call me Petyr."

Margaery had almost forgotten that the man had a given name. _Petyr_. Out of his cumbersome doublet, with his shirt hanging open, in the dim light of the room, he almost looked a man that would be called Petyr and not Littlefinger.

"Petyr...I was hoping you could suggest a few things. I am no maiden, even before I wed Tommen, but I fear my experiences have left me wanting. The men that I have bedded were very passionate men but I was never able to get the release I get from my own fingers."

"By passionate I believe you mean hurried...rushed? Consumed with sating their own desires while ignoring your own?" The hand he had placed upon her knee began to travel slowly upward, gently squeezing her thigh through the thin fabric of her gown. Margaery felt the familiar flames of arousal ignite in her stomach. 

"Yes, that exactly," she answered, her eyes unable to look away from his hand. His ringed fingers, were long and thin and she wondered what he could do with them. 

He leaned his body into hers, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. "You want me to make you cum, your Grace?" he asked in a whisper, before taking her earlobe between his lips and sucking on it. 

The fire in her stomach spread lower, to her core, in a rush of heat and she sighed deeply. She felt his lips spread into a smile before dipping down to claim her pulse, just under her jaw. Her head lolled back and she closed her eyes, giving over to the sensations. 

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, make me cum. I need to cum."

The hand that had been unoccupied moved to her lower back, supporting her, as his other hand began pulling up her gown, sliding underneath until skin was touching skin. Margaery's legs spread open, unconsciously, as the pads of his fingers made languid pace up the inside of her thigh. His hands were soft, not like the hands of men who wielded swords, but she felt their strength as he gripped her thigh. 

She was becoming breathless as he nipped at her neck, his lips soft but his mustache tickling just slightly. He teased at her inner thighs for what felt like an eternity and wetness began to pool where she longed for his touch. She whimpered and bucked her hips like a wanton. 

"Mmm...anxious little thing aren't you," he cooed, rubbing his nose against the soft skin of her neck. Finally the hand under her gown cupped her mound and his fingers found her uncovered and wet. He had told her to dress light so she had foregone small clothes altogether.

He slid his fingers through her silken, slit and she heard a slight moan escape his lips. This was when men seemed to lose their self control, when they would yank her skirts up and take her fast and hard and she waited with bated breath to see if he would do the same. 

"Lay down on your back," he ordered, taking his hand away. 

"Okay," she said, sliding up onto the cushions, the fire inside her dying, knowing he was about to fuck her and that would be that. Just another man who feels a wet cunt and pokes away at it until his seed is spilled and she was no where close to finished. 

After she was comfortably positioned with a few pillows under her head, Petyr climbed on with her. He pushed her knees apart and settled himself between them but he did not move to unlace his breeches. Instead he lay flush against her and captured her lips with his own. He kissed her slowly and gently before darting his tongue out for her to open. When she complied she tasted mint and Arbor Gold, a pleasant mixture. He deepened the kiss, entwining his tongue with her own, sucking slightly. As their mouths explored each other's his hands came to rest on her breasts, cupping each one, squeezing just enough. When his fingers pinched at her nipples a jolt slammed through her body, reigniting those flames. 

When his lips left her own and dipped down to take a nipple into his mouth through the gown, she moaned, reaching down and running her fingers through his short hair. When he moved back up, face to face with her, she was taken somewhat aback at his changed appearance. His eyes were glazed and dark, his normally severely coiffed hair had become tousled and messy from where she had ran her fingers through it. He looked very handsome...she wanted to pull his shirt off, see the man underneath. 

Reaching down, she began to tug upward on the hem of his shirt and he lifted his arms, allowing her to pull it over his head. She almost gasped at the sight of the entire scar that spanned the length of his torso but aside from its harsh, raised appearance the rest of him was more lovely than she had expected. His body was lean and hard, despite the fact that he spent most of his time seated behind a desk, not at all what she expected. Though even with clothes on he appeared thin, she had assumed there would be wrinkles or sagging skin because of his age. There were none.

She found that she wanted him and reached for the laces of his breeches. He grabbed her hands immediately, pushing them away. "Not yet, my dear. This is about you."

Margaery almost didn't know how to react to that statement. Sex was never about a woman for a man and she wondered for a moment if perhaps he did not desire her, how else could he remain so in control? The thought was pushed from her mind as he began pulling her gown up and she lifted so that he could get it off. When she was fully nude he bent over her and once again wrapped his lips around her now exposed nipples, taking each one in turn.

His hand snaked down between her legs and his fingers dipped between her curls, slipping between her folds. He took his time, stroking her slit, rubbing her wetness all over and her clit began to throb. His fingers were deft and expert as they explored her, lightly circling her nub before dipping just to her entrance without entering. 

Never before had a man touched her this way. They would try but it was usually rough and fast, as if they were digging in a sack in search of something, poking and prodding. Petyr's fingers were instruments of pleasure and when he slowly pushed a finger inside her she moaned deeply.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, removing his lips from her nipple and kissing her chest between her breasts. 

"Mmm....yes." And it did. She began bucking her hips onto his hand as he fucked her slowly with his finger. When his thumb pressed against her clit she cried out, her body beginning to tremble as the pleasure built. It felt even better than we she would touch herself with her own fingers, so when he removed his hand from her she found herself whimpering from the lack of him. 

He raised himself onto his knees, looking down over her. His gaze was hungry and she felt her cheeks redden as his eyes burned into hers. When he lifted the hand that had been between her legs to his lips and sucked her juices from his own fingers Margaery felt a knew, powerful surge of arousal strike through her abdomen to her cunt. 

"What are you doing, my Lord?" her voice came out breathless and shaky.

"I'm going to lick that little pussy, my Queen."

His wicked words made her entire body feel flush and she panted heavily as he pushed her legs apart and lowered his head. The cool air of the room had little time to hit her warm, wetness before his mouth did and she threw her head back as pleasure washed over her. 

If his fingers weren't enough of an indication of his skills, his tongue ensured them. He ravaged her cunt, licking her slit from clit to entrance, over and over again, pausing only to suck at her swollen nub. She was beginning to writhe under him and when he dipped two fingers inside her and began fucking her, she gripped the sheets with one hand and the other grabbed his hair, holding his head down as she bucked wildly against him. 

The pleasure and that aching need that had been building inside her exploded and she came onto his fingers and tongue, moaning and grinding. He slipped his fingers slowly in and out of her as she came down from her high, before removing them altogether and returning once again to stand on his knees between her legs. 

When her mind began to clear she sat up enough to begin unlacing his breeches again and she could now see clearly the erection straining against the cloth. This time he did not move her hands away, merely watched as she unlaced him. Her arousal returned at the feeling of his eyes on her and she felt a surge of power and lust at seeing the man called Littlefinger this way. 

Slowly she pushed his pants down his slim hips and freed his member. It sprang up before her, the head an angry red, a drop of pre cum dripping from the hole. Littlefinger's finger was not little at all, her cunt once again throbbing at the sight of his needy manhood. He lifted his knees to get out of his pants fully and kicked them to the floor. 

Margaery took his member in hand, stroking his length up and down, his foreskin already so tight there wasn't much give. She watched his head tilt back slightly and his eyes close. If there was one thing she knew how to do it was pleasure a man and despite his normally well composed and controlled demeanor, it turned out Lord Baelish still held a man's most primal desires. 

She bent her head and placed a kiss on his crown and watched as he inhaled sharply, biting his bottom lip. Briefly she wondered if he thought of someone else, the Lady Sansa perhaps, but decided it didn't matter. She was the one with his cock in her hand, seeing him exposed and somewhat vulnerable and it made her feel dominant. It was arousing and exciting. 

Carefully she wrapped her lips around his head and sank down onto his length, sucking slightly. 

"Fuck," he whispered, his hands finding her hair and pushing her head further down onto him until he hit the back of her throat. 

His reaction urged her on and she gripped the base of his shaft firmly, cutting off blood flow to make him even harder as her mouth worked him up and down. He fucked her face slowly, not being too rough, until he groaned loudly and pushed her back off him. 

"As good as that feels, this is about you, your Grace and I do not want to finish until I am finished with you."

"I was enjoying myself, my Lord."

His expression turned to one of amusement. "Were you now?"

"I was." It was the truth. Pleasuring him had her quite aroused, her cunt dripping with new moisture. 

"Lay back," he ordered.

She obliged and he pushed her legs apart, settling between them. When his manhood grazed her slit, hot and hard, she hissed in satisfaction. He lowered his head and kissed her as he grabbed his cock and aligned it with her glistening entrance. Then with a shove he sank inside her and she cried out from the feeling of him stretching her. He was thick and solid and filled her completely. 

He began slowly, rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, and Margaery felt pleasure building almost immediately, for she had already been so turned on. After a time he hooked his arms under her knees, pushing into her deeper and more quickly, the new angle allowing him to hit a spot inside her she was sure no man had hit before. 

"Oh Gods..." she cried out, as he pushed into her, stroking that spot over and over again. 

"Does that feel good, my Queen?" 

"Mmmmm....oh yes, please don't stop." Her eyes almost rolled back and she felt like a wanton whore, begging him not to stop but it felt wonderful and her pleasure was edging closer to that sweet release once again. 

Moans and cries and obscenities escaped her lips as he fucked her and the more she cried out the harder and faster his thrusts became. She opened her eyes to see his face drawn tight with concentration, sweat beaded on his forehead and glistened on his chest. She reached up to feel his muscles, tight and hard under his skin. 

"Oooh...shit," he moaned and the sounds of his pleasure intensified Margaery's own. The sight of him pounding away between her legs, the motion of his thin hips, his ass cheeks clenched tightly, as he labored to bring her to climax, was one of the most magnificent things she had ever seen. 

"Are you going to cum for me, Margaery?"

The sound of her name on his lips and his sinful words added fuel to her already ardent fire and she felt her release in the distance now, not so far away. She was a taught spring about to break. 

"Yeees," she panted. "Don't stop. Petyr, please don't stop."

He didn't. He pushed her thighs down further and pounded down into her relentlessly and it was as if a damn broke and wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Her body tensed, her back arching, as she came long and hard, her walls contracting, pulling his cock in deeper. 

Just as her orgasm began to subside he groaned, pulling out of her quickly, stroking his member roughly as his hot seed shot out onto her stomach and thighs. 

He collapsed beside her and for a few minutes neither of them moved, catching their breath. Margaery was in a state of shock. Never in her life had she been fucked so good and it had come from the last man she would have ever thought to let touch her. 

"Did you learn all that from pleasuring your whores?" she asked with a laugh. 

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his breeches from the floor. "I do not fuck whores." His answer was stern.

"I apologize, my Lord. I only thought-"

"I know what you thought." He slid his pants on, covering his limp member. "Before now you, like every other woman, thought you wanted brave warriors and valiant knights in your bed. Then when you find out what I can do you assume it is because I run a brothel. That I must be practicing on my employees." He walked to the water basin on the opposite side of the room and wet a cloth, returning to her. "Here, wash up."

"I must confess that I did think that," she said, taking the cloth. He turned his back to her as she wiped away the slickness from between her legs and began putting her gown back on. "I must have been wrong. Forgive me my assumptions."

"You do not require my forgiveness. You are the Queen. You can think as you like."

Petyr took a seat behind his desk and Margaery felt a chill had how quickly his demeanor had changed. Only moments before he had been a creature of passion...of sensuality. The man that spoke to her now did not seem to be the same man that had her crying out beneath him. 

"So. I have held up my end of the bargain. I trust that you will hold up yours."

"Of course," she answered. "I will persuade the Lady Sansa of the perfect match you would be for her. As promised."

"Excellent."

He said nothing more as he began to shuffle through the papers that were spread out on his desk and she assumed that was her cue for dismissal. As she made her way to the door she felt slightly saddened and yet she knew she shouldn't. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. It could never be more. 

"Goodnight, Lord Baelish."

Her hand was on the door handle when he spoke again. 

"Your Grace?"

"Yes?" She did not turn to look at him. 

"Will you be requiring further services from me?"

Her heart fluttered and she bit her bottom lip. Lady Sansa was her friend indeed, and a part of her knew that this should never happen again if he was to be her intended. And yet the memory of his strained face above her as he fucked her was enough to convince her that she could not walk away so easily. Lady Sansa need never know. 

"I believe I might, Lord Baelish."

"Very well. Goodnight, your Grace. Travel back safely."

Margaery was grinning as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and went out into the night.


End file.
